


Bared Teeth, Bloody Knuckles

by dimircharmer



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Away Mission Gone Wrong, Gen, Genocide, Kids in Danger, Minor Violence, Mission Fic, Starvation, Tarsus IV, as in the violence is minor and it also involves minors, not a happy kid fic, terrible things being done to and by children
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-07 09:25:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7709716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimircharmer/pseuds/dimircharmer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Kirk to arrive on the transporter pad worse for the wear than when he had left is not unusual. For him to return fourteen years old, half-starved, and brandishing a knife is perhaps more so. Neither Kirk, nor the crew of the Enterprise is sure of what to think of each other in the aftermath.</p><p>-<br/>Or, an away mission goes terribly wrong, and the Kirk that the Enterprise receives back from an uncharted planet is younger, halfway feral, and much less well fed than the one they sent away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I said to myself "self, why hasn't anyone combined the Tarsus reveal fics with the De-Aging fics, both of which are staples in any healthy Star Trek fic community?"
> 
> And then I said to myself, "self, you can be the one to write that fic" and so here's that fic. Let's not pretend we're above this.

Kirk was starting to think that he should get the words “It should have been a routine first contact mission” printed on T-shirts. Or maybe just engraved on his tombstone.

“Hey Sulu,” he said, raising his hands in the universal (or at least, nearly- He’d heard something about a new species out in the Beta Quadrant) gesture for ‘please don’t hurt us,’ “What’s the over-under of us getting out of here un-shot?”

Sulu copied him, and out of the corner of his eye, Kirk could see Uhura resentfully doing the same on his other side. They were surrounded on all sides by four-eyed aliens in possession of some form of blaster weapon.

“Oh, I dunno captain,” Sulu said, “I give it 60-40, in favour of getting blasted. If you wanted a more accurate assessment, you should have brought Spock on the away team.”

“Maybe I should have brought Spock on the away team anyway,” Kirk said. “He doesn’t sass me as much as you do.”

Sulu muffled his laughter, probably wisely, as they were all still being held at gunpoint.

“Uhura!” Kirk calls, “What’s your assessment of the situation?”

Uhura, because she was a professional, said “I believe our information was out of date, or deliberately sabotaged. Peaceful first contact is now, I believe, no longer our top priority, nor even a possibility.”

And then, because she’d been spending the last few years on the Enterprise, added “Unless having our weapons, communicators, and tricorders confiscated, and being held hostage is part of the Federation’s first contact orders for Renua III, and I missed that in our mission briefing. In which case things are going swimmingly.”

“No respect,” Kirk grumbled as he let himself get manhandled into a vehicle. Renua III had mastered nuclear and plasma modes of power, but had apparently not yet discovered the energy potential of dilithium, which meant they were in for a significantly bumpier ride than the hover cars of earth could provide. Also, Kirk had yet to spend a comfortable ride in the back of any detainment vehicle of any time. Especially with his hands bound behind his back.

He made himself as comfortable as he could as his Lieutenants were packed into the back of the vehicle with them, shifting to try and reduce the pull he could already feel in his shoulders.

Sulu and Uhura were good sports, in that they climbed in the car (truck? Shuttle? Hell if Kirk knew. Unknown wheeled transport vehicle) without any further resistance. No point, surrounded by twenty-odd heavily armed Renuans. They watched the door slide shut behind them.

“Captain-“ Sulu started,

“Not yet Lieutenant,” Kirk said, low. “Wait until the engines start. They should provide a little bit of noise for cover.”

They knelt for another very tense minute in the back of the truck before the engines started. Not the comforting hum of warp engines, or even the familiar and nostalgic purr of a diesel engine, but the high pitched whirr of a nuclear generator’s coolant system.

“Right,” Kirk said, and leant closer to his officers. It gave the whole affair sort of a pre-game huddle feeling, but there was no avoiding it. “What’ve we got to work with, Lieutenants?”

“Last reports of the planet were made by a probe nearly thirty years ago,” Uhura said. “But no signs from then of any sort of organized military. Well known in the immediate interplanetary area as excellent doctors and surgeons, have not yet personally achieved warp-speed travel. The Renuans seemed to be largely non-violent as a culture. If they’ve been militarized in the years since, there’s been a cultural upheaval large enough that our information is useless at best, and actively detrimental at worst,” She shrugged, and her ponytail shifted on her shoulder “We’re in the dark here, captain.”

“Great,” Kirk said. “Sulu?”

“We beamed down about a click and a half outside the largest settlement we could find, captain.” Sulu said. “Response times indicate they probably knew about us since we were in orbit, or on the outside, since we started making preparations to beam down. Direction of the shuttle know means we’re probably headed in the direction of the main city now.”

Kirk nodded, and pursed his lips. “Thank you.”

He thought for a moment.

“They haven’t shot at us yet, so I’m going to see if this mission can still be salvaged. It’s a long shot, but it is still a possibility. However, I’m not real optimistic about that one, so if either of you see a chance to acquire a weapon or a communication device, I’m giving you permission to go for it. Our priority has to be getting a message to the Enterprise; if they know we’re up shit creek, they can send the cavalry. I’m mixing metaphors here, but you get the picture.”

The two of them nodded grimly at him. Kirk felt the truck lurch beneath them, and they all got tossed into one of the side walls. Kirk had to blink stars from his eyes, and Sulu was struggling with trying to get back upright without the use of his arms

“Don’t,” Kirk felt compelled to add, “Do anything stupid. Worst case scenario, we miss our next check-in and the enterprise starts looking for us in max two and a half hours. I don’t want either of you thinking you can pickpocket somebody and ending up getting killed.” He stared hard at each of them in turn. “Is that clear?”

He had just enough time to hear two murmured ‘yes captains’ before the door slides open again, and has all three of them blinking at the sudden light.

“Game faces, everyone,” Kirk says, and he steps out into the bright Renua sun, trying to look as official and non-threatening as he can in his dress greens, with his hands still bound behind his back.

The trip to the leader’s chambers is relatively short and painless, as these things go. They’re frogmarched and guarded by armed Renuans, sure, but none of them are jabbing them with the butts of their guns, and the walk is largely through wide, clean white halls. The Renuans they pass along the way are split evenly down the middle between the ‘stop and stare at the aliens’ camp and the ‘keep your head down and keep walking’ camp. Kirk takes it as an encouraging sign; in his not inconsiderable experience, the head-down approach usually means there’s torture and attempted murder to follow. He keeps half his mind on their route so they can retrace it if need be, and the other half on walking with as much dignity as he can while escorted by an armed guard.

The seat of government (a council, if he remembers his briefing correctly) is as clean and white and uncarpeted as the rest of the building. It feels… Sterile. Bones would have a field day, Kirk is sure, but Kirk doesn’t like it. People tend to need a little bit of mess, a little bit of art, in their daily lives. The council room is just soaring white ceiling and a single long table, without so much as a splash of paint or a wall hanging to break up the monotony. It’s even all out of the same, plastic-esque material.

The councillors themselves are looming out at the enterprise crew, four eyes each glaring down at them. Half, but not all of their armed guard retreats, leaving them with a click of the door that felt more ominous than such a small noise should be.

“Councillors,” Kirk tries, his most charming diplomatic grin already in place, “I’m sure there’s been something of a misunderstanding. I am Captain James Kirk, of the USS Enterprise, representing the United Federation of Planets. We have come with peaceful intentions, but there seems to have been a misunderstanding when we beamed down. I can promise you, we represent no threat.”

There’s no reaction from the table.

Kirk tries again. “The Federation is a peaceful organization,” He adds, “The Enterprise is a science vessel, on a mission of exploration and discovery. We have no designs on your planet, should you not wish to join, but I have to say that handcuffing three officers is not a great way to begin a diplomatic relationship.”

That gets a reaction out of one of them, who leans forward in her seat.

“We have been approached,” She says, “By ones such as you once before.”

“Ah.” Kirk says, and he can feel his careful diplomatic grin slipping into a grimace. “And when was this?”

“Twelve years ago,” she says, settling back in her chair, four eyes blinking slightly out of synch, “We were approached by a landing party such as yourselves who demanded we aid and abet their _empire.”_

“Hey, woah,” Kirk said. If he had use of his hands, he would have held them up in a placating gesture. He made do with trying to exude non-imperial vibes in a regulation uniform. “Nobody said anything about joining anyone else’s empire.”

“That,” the councilwoman said, “Is the same as they were, in the beginning. It continued to be so, until we realized what their intentions were. Our hospitals, our doctors, our energies, were not being used in service of their civilians, but for their _soldiers._ They had made us complicit in a war we desired no part in, and we did not know until their victims made contact with us.”

Her hand clenched on the table, trembling slightly, and the other Renuans look similarly incensed.

There was a tense pause, where she visibly wrests herself back under control. When she looks up again, she is nearly apologetic.

“We are not killers, Captain James Kirk,” She says, “But we could not continuing to return soldiers to the battlefield, nor could we turn away patients who genuinely needed our services. A compromise was reached.”

Kirk swallowed around a lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. It was never a good sign when they broke out the passive voice.

“What was the compromise?” He asked.

“The compromise is as follows,” She drew herself up to her full height in her chair, bland beige robes increasing. “Offworlders will be permitted to seek medical assistance on Renua, and permitted to return as long as they are not part of a military organization. Offworlders part of a military organization will be permitted to seek medical care, and will be re-educated on Renua, to prevent them from committing further acts of violence, and will be permitted to depart again following the four-year re-education program if that is their desire.”

“Wait, four _years_ -“ Kirk interrupted, “Isn’t that a little-“

The councillor banged her fist on the desk and raised her voice over Kirk’s protests “Offworlders part of a military organization and _not_ seeking medical care,” She continued “Will be re-educated to prevent them from committing further acts of violence, and will be released pending an assessment at the end of the four year re-education program!”

Her final words echoed through the hall, and Kirk absently wondered if that was the point of the lack of decor, to make the judgements ring out for as long as possible.

“Ah,” He said. “Would it be possible to make contact with our ship, to inform them of our fates?”

She glared at him. “Re-education will begin immediately.”

“Ah.” Kirk said again, as a pair of Renuans seized him under the arms. “That’s a ‘no,’ then?”

“We are sorry, James Kirk,” she said soflty, retaking her seat. She even looks it, exhausted and drawn. “We hope you find a better life here.”

The doors to the council chambers slid shut again as they left, and Kirk thought that he had been right about the ominousness of the noise after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of the same, for the ground crew.

Their escort to the next stop on their journey was no less heavily armed, but at least seemed more apologetic. They were guided, rather than dragged through another endless series of white twisting hallways, which Kirk made a half-hearted attempt to keep track of. He was relieved that imminent and immediate death was off the table, but “re-education” could mean damn near anything, and frankly, Jim trusted the Renuans as far as he could spit. Less, actually. Jim could spit pretty far.

After an estimated two-thirds of a mile of corridor, they emerged back into bright Renuan sunlight and were herded back into another shuttle, at which point Kirk gave up trying to keep track of where they were going. Without windows, and no idea of the average speed of the nuclear-powered transport, they’d have to eyeball it once they reached their destination. Instead, he shuffled closer to his team, inching his way forward on the floor on toes and knees.

“Alright,” he said “Report. What else do we know.”

Uhura chewed her bottom lip. “I don’t recognise the weaponry at all. It seems strange that they would develop something like that, if the council was so opposed to even being complicit in a war. I would guess that they probably adapted or stole it from the species they had the conflict with. I’d put money on them not having a lot of practice with them, in any case.”

Kirk nodded. “Sulu?”

“Three hours to sunset, roughly.” Sulu said. “I agree with Uhura’s assessment of the weapons. The tech doesn’t look like anything else we’ve seen here, did you notice?        Not the same lines, not the same compound, not the same energy signature. Plus, it looks like it was designed for a species with a wider set of shoulders: if there’s any recoil on those at all it’s going to knock a Renuan flat.”

Kirk nodded, and desperately wished he could itch at his nose. “That’s my impression too. If we can get our hands on one, don’t fire unless absolutely necessary. We don’t know what kind of damage they do, and if they’ve been taking proper care of them, I’ll eat my communicator. I don’t want them blowing up in either of your faces, is that clear?”

They nodded at him, and Kirk shifted again. “Right. Everything we’ve seen so far is very hospitable, aside from the re-education hiccup. Real aversion to violence, even to standing by and letting violence happen.”

Uhura and Sulu exchanged glances but, bless his crew, said nothing.

“One of us,” Kirk said, “is going to have to put one of the others in the hospital. I nominate myself.”

At this they both moved to protest, but Kirk kept talking over them.

“I’m the captain, they’ll prioritize treatment to me,” He rationalized, hoping Bones would understand when they made it back to the ship. “Medial facilities are always less monitored, less guarded, and less careful about concealing information than detention facilities. Maybe I can even pocket a hypo full of sedative or a scanner on my way out.”

Uhura shook her head. “Respectfully, captain,” and she sounded like she actually meant it, “It should be me. If there’s any chance of getting a message through, I need to be the one with my hands on the equipment.”

Kirk stared at her, level as he could in the back of a bouncing truck. “Can you do it? With whatever tech they have in there?”

Uhura smiled, and it bared her teeth. “Captain, I built transistor radios from scrap when I was ten years old. If I have a power source and a transmitter, I can get you a signal that’ll stretch clear across the system.”

Kirk blinked, and was abruptly reminded that Uhura kept up with Spock in a romantic relationship for several years.

“I hate to say it Captain, but she’s right,” Sulu added. “Talking to the ship’s more important than information right now.”

Kirk stared at his two lieutenants for a moment.

“Shit,” he said finally. “You’re right, of course you’re right.”

He sighed, and stared Uhura right in the face. “We need something that they’ll keep you overnight on observation for, not something that can be just regenerated or hypo’d away. Head injuries are out though, for obvious reasons. They’re dicey at the best of times, and I need you both at your best if we have a shot at this. Can’t mess up your hands, for the same reason. I’m not willing to try to judge fatal rather than just life threatening chest wounds. I’d like you to still be able to run, if we need to, but a broken leg might be our best bet here. It’ll have to be messy, lieutenant, if we want them to keep you over night, and we don't know how good at healing they actually are, compared to our own tech. Are you still up for this?”

Uhura nodded. Every inch of her face was carved in hard determination, and Kirk took a moment to thank the stars for his crew.

“First thing tomorrow then,” Sulu said, bumping his shoulder into Uhura’s in solidarity, “we find you some steps to trip down, or something heavy to accidently fall on your leg. I’ll teach you how to land exactly wrong.”

Uhura grinned tightly, and the vehicle lurched to a halt. “Can’t wait.”

The back of the truck opened, and as one, they blinked in the sudden light.

“Right,” Kirk said quickly before they started to move, “We’ve had worse, keep your heads on straight. There’s less than an hour and a half before we miss our check-in. No drastic measures.”

And then he was pulled out of the trunk into a clearing. Renuan forests loomed thickly behind a fence on every side, and the city they had left was barely a blip on the horizon. He raised his eyebrows, impressed: those nuclear vehicles made much better time than he expected. The clearing they were in was occupied mostly by sizeable white concrete orbs half-buried in the dirt, with one large central building of the same construction off to one side. It gave the whole enclosure the impression of a very strange nest. Individual units and a central building, maybe? There weren’t bars on the doors, so they probably weren’t individual cells.

Their guards didn’t let him get a closer look at much of the scenery before, again, they were dragging them off to parts unknown. Kirk was starting to seriously dislike these people.

“We can walk on our own, you know,” he informed the Renuan on his left, “not that we don’t appreciate the guided tour, but we can actually walk unassisted.”

The Renuan said nothing. Kirk continued, absentmindedly, to try strike up a conversation until they halted in front of what had to be their destination. It looked, frankly, like one of the massive medical tanks that they kept aboard the Enterprise to treat cases of rapid decompression.  He darted a look at Uhura, who lifted one shoulder in a tiny shrug. Sulu looked similarly mystified. The tank was vaugly cylindrical, with what looked like a massive airlock sealing it off from the compound. Kirk’s cuffs clicked, and he was shoved forward into the antechamber before he could react. The airlock door spun shut behind them. All the inside of the chamber had was a small row of cubbies by the door, a bench along the middle of the tube, and panels of light all the way around the walls of the tank, unbroken except on the floor. If kirk reached his arm up, he could just about press it flat against the ceiling. He paced down one end of the bench, and back up the other, and frowned when he found that the chamber was as solid from the inside as it appeared from the outside.

“This can’t be the holding cell,” Kirk said. “There’s not enough damn space, let alone any facilities.”

“You are correct, Captain,” came a voice from the ceiling. It was, unless Kirk was mistaken, the same councillor that had shouted at them in the capital.

“Councillor,” Kirk greeted, “any time you want to get around to explaining what the hell we’re doing here would be fine by us.”

There was a brief pause, during which they could hear the councillor breathing through the intercom.

“You have been neutralized,” she said finally, “It will do you no harm to tell you now. We discovered, twelve years ago, that in order to successfully re-educate those who would commit violence, their experiences of violence would have to be erased. Our standard measures did not meet with any success, until one of our caregivers for the elderly proposed a solution. A device, once used to reverse the effects of physical degeneration due to aging, had the potential to solve our problem. It had been unused since the discovery that in addition to restoring the body to the state of a younger being, it did the same to the mind.”

“Uh-“ Sulu said, which Kirk thought was a fair reaction.

“Re-education of adolescents succeeded where re-education of adults failed,” the councillor continued “They were no longer the war-hungry beings they once were. The same will be true of you.”

“Jesus,” Kirk muttered, and rubbed a hand across his face, “You’re going to turn us into kids and brainwash us?”

“You will be permitted, if you choose, to re-join your own species upon your entry into the age of majority, four years from today. We will not hold you against your wishes.”

“Except for right now, where that’s exactly what you’re doing,”

“You will fall asleep,” The councillor continued either ignoring or ignorant of Kirk’s interjection, “you will wake up as adolescents, fourteen of your standard years old. You will be retrieved from this chamber tomorrow morning, by your re-educators.”

“Foutee- No, you _really_ don’t want to-“

“I am sorry, Captain James Kirk,” the council woman said, and the panels on the sides of the chamber began to flip on, one by one, alternating and flooding the room with so much light Kirk had to shield his eyes. “We wish you had never come here. I hope you find your new life more pleasant than the one you left behind.”

Kirk's last thought, before the final panel lit, was that they had perhaps eighty-five more minutes until they missed their check-in with the enterprise. Then, the final panel on the was illuminated, and then there was blinding light, and then total darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -writes 35 hundred words of worldbuilding and setup for self indulgent kidfic-
> 
> Parkour.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The away landing party wakes up, and it's not actually the landing party much at all.

Jim woke up, and tried very hard not to panic. He was inside, for one thing, and the last time Jim had slept inside was… two months ago? Two and a half? In that barn, before he found the twins and-

He was inside. Wherever he was asleep was dark, which wasn’t unusual. It was also clean, which was. It didn’t matter where he was; he had to keep moving. There were other people depending on him. He scrubbed at his face, gingerly tracing the bruise that took up most of his left cheek, and tonged at the missing tooth below it, before swinging his legs to the floor.

The legs of his pants brushed the floor, and his boots were too big. He frowned, and toed off the overlarge boots, before hiking up the socks which were sagging around his boney ankles. He cuffed the pants once, twice, and then pushed his shirt sleeves up past his elbows. There would be time to worry about what the hell had happened to his sneakers and jacket later, but right now, he had to figure out where he was. The bench he had fallen asleep on (Maybe?) was against a curved wall. Keeping one hand on the wall, Jim walked cautiously down the room.

He bumped into another body not five feet from where he had woken up.

“Hey,” Jim said, dropping to one knee, “Hey, wake up.”

He groped around in the dark until he found the shoulders of the body, and shook them.

“Hey,” He said again. “Are you alive?”

The person groaned, and batted at his hands. “Five more minutes,” she mumbled.

“Hey!” He shook her harder, “Get up!”

She swatted at him, and he grabbed one of her arms by the wrist, and pulled her to sitting. “What are you doing?” he hissed, “wake up!”

She grumbled, and pulled her arm back, but at least she was awake. He could see the vague shape of her in the dark as she rubbed her eyes. “Who are you?” she said. “Where am I”

Jim, recalled the feeling of her arm as she pulled it back from him. “Have you been eating?” he asked

“What?” she said, “Yeah, why? Her voice was still thick with sleep, and she was waking up slowly. She had eaten. She was confused, but not frightened.

“You don’t know, then,” Jim could feel his heart sinking in his chest, “You have no idea what’s been happening.”

“What is happening?” Came a voice that was not the girl’s. “Do you know? ‘Cause I don’t”

“Who are you?” Jim called

“Hikaru!” there was a scuffling further down the room in the dark, and something bumped into the girl from the other side. “I’ve been awake for maybe five minutes? I’ve been waiting for you two. I thought you’d have some idea of what’s going on.”

“You don’t know either?” Jim said, “Fuck, ok. Ok, um-“

He ran his hands through his hair. “The governor’s been killing people for nearly four months, in order to save food for the rest of you. I know he’s been hiding it from the rest of the colony, but believe me, people aren’t being re-assigned, they’re dead. And if you’re in a room with me, we’re all up next on the chopping block. We need to get out now, before they come and get us,”

Jim stood up, and groped around in the dark for the wall, following it down to one end.

“Hey!” The girl called, “How do you know this, then? If it’s so big a secret?”

“Because,” Jim said, digging his fingernails into a panel, “He tried to kill me. Me ‘n a hundred n fifty others, half my town. I’ve been hiding in the woods with a couple of other kids for months.”

He pulled at the panel, and when it didn’t budge, moved on to the next one. “There are seven of us, ‘less Kodos’ guards have found us while I’m… wherever we are.”

He pulled at the second panel, with similar results, and was briefly tempted to kick something. The two others behind him were silent in the dark. They were old enough, like he was, to take care of the others, to keep quiet themselves when they were scared. To run, even when they were hurt or crying. And Kirk refused to think about them in terms of mouths to feed, wouldn’t let himself turn into Kodos.

“If you help me get us out of here,” Jim said quietly, “You can join us. I’m not telling you where we are, before we get there, but we’ve set up shelter where no-one’s found us yet. Fresh water nearby. And we stole a pair of phasers. Not a lot of food,” a can and a half of beans, and a sack of replicator paste meant to last less than a week, last time he checked “but no where’s gonna have any food. Not anymore.”

One of them got up, and Jim could hear them stumble, and then the twin thuds of their boots being kicked off. “I still don’t know who you are.” The girl said.

“James. Call me Jim.”

“I’m Nyota.” She said, and there was some more scuffling. “And I think there’s a knife in my boot?”

“What?” said Hikaru, “what do you-“

“Great,” said Jim, “help me pry one of these panels up, see if there’s wiring underneath. Hikaru, did you notice anything about the room while you were waiting?”

“It’s not very big, and it’s round,” Hikaru said. “I think the door’s on that end of it.” He pushes Jim in the opposite direction that Jim was feeling, and Jim hisses as Hikaru connects with his shoulder.

Jim pulled his shoulder away, and stumbled in the direction Hikaru had indicated. “Can either of you reach the celling of the room?” Jim said, “I think there’s a bench in the middle, can you check if there’s anything up there?”

Hikaru climbed onto the bench, and Jim heard Nyota chink her knife into a slot between panels.

“Who did you say has been killing people?” Hikaru asked. “That Kodos guy?”

Kirk paused in his blind evaluation of the massive, heavy door in front of him. “Kodos? Govonor Kodos?”

“Never heard of him.” HIkaru said.

“What do you mean you’ve never heard of-“ Jim was interrupted by Nyota’s cry of triumph, and also the flood of light the panel she had knocked loose. Nyota turned out to be a girl about Kirk’s age, with her hair in neat twists all the way down to the middle of her shoulder blades. Hikaru looked like he was just starting the growth spurt that everyone had always promised Jim would turn him into the spitting image of his father; there was nothing to him except knees and elbows, and he would have towered over Kirk even if he didn’t have the advantage of standing on a bench.

He can see them both take him in, the bruise on his face and the matching scab on his scalp on the other side, where the force of the rifle butt had pushed him into the wall, and the shadows under his eyes. The way his pants hang loose on his hips. The stick thin-ness of his wrists and forearms, the sores around his fingers and the yellow broken state of his fingernails. He stands there and lets them, stares right back at them when their eyes make it back up to his face.

“Ok, I believe you.” Hikaru said finally. “Now what?”

Jim looked around the room, more like a tiny little shipping container than a proper room. Clean and white as a hospital, but significantly more round. The flickering panel Nyota was holding was one of many, and her ‘knife’ turned out to be simply a piece of metal it looked like was pried of the back of a truck.

“What’s behind that panel?” Jim asked her.

Nyota pushed one hand in behind it, and groped around. “A bunch of wires, and some concrete, it feels like? Not much.”

“Hey,” Hikaru says, pointing above his head, “is that a speaker?”

He’s pointing at a panel with holes punched through it, made of a totally different material than the rest of the chamber. It was raised slightly, from the rest of the ceiling, and looked the exact right distance to slip Nyota's 'knife' around the outside to pry it open. Jim grinned, and he could feel all his teeth show.

“I think,” He said, “it’s an exit.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang breaks out of prison

Nyota had to sit on Hikaru’s shoulders to reach the speaker. Her earrings swung precariously as she worked the piece of metal into the nearly imperceptible seam in the ceiling, but she did manage to get the tiny little pry bar into the gap. She looked back down at Jim and Hikaru, and gave them the thumbs up. Hikaru adjusted his grip on her shins.

“Archimedes don’t fail us now,” Kirk said, “Haul on it, Nyota.”

Her arms tensed, then her face twisted, then her thighs lifted off Hikaru’s shoulders, and abruptly the speaker’s housing came loose. Nyota’s exclamation of alarm was lost in the crash of the speaker system colliding with the floor, and she and Hikaru followed it shortly in the opposite direction of where Jim was braced to catch them.

Jim coughed in the dust, “You alright?”

Nyota pulled herself onto her elbows, and shook the dust out of her hair. “I think so.”

Hikaru groaned, “I’m going to have bruises for _weeks_ ,”

“You’ll be fine,” Jim told him, already climbing on the bench to look at the hole in the ceiling, “Hey, you think you could give me a boost to look at this again?”

Hikaru grumbled, but got up and linked his fingers together to give Jim a place to stand. Jim braced one hand on Hikaru’s head, the other on the ceiling itself, and pushed his torso up into the gap where the speaker used to be. He rested on his elbows for a moment in the crawlspace above the room, legs still dangling out of the hole.

“You’re lighter than I expected,” Hikaru said, “See anything?”

“Dust and wires,” Jim said, “But they’re all going to one end. Betcha ten credits that’s our way out.”

“You need me to stick the lit panel up in there after you?” Hikaru said.

“If the wire’ll get that far,” Kirk said, and inch wormed the rest of his way into the crawlspace. He had, once before he left Earth, visited an old fort on a school trip, some old Civil War monument. One of the towers had a staircase in it that hugged the walls so tightly that you had to turn sideways to get from one floor to the other, cold stone pressing you in on both sides. It had considerably more space to maneuver than the crawlspace did, and he was going to be the skinniest of the three of them making the trip.

Hikaru stuck the first few inches of the panel through the hole in the ceiling, throwing everything into sharp shadowed relief. Most importantly, it showed Kirk that he’d been correct: All the wires from the panels connected to a single centralized bunch, which collected at what looked like an access panel.

“Jackpot,” Kirk murmured, and stuck his head back through the hole. Hikaru looked up at the re-appearance of his upside-down head, but Nyota was still picking through the remains of the speaker system.

“I think I have a way out,” Kirk said, “It looks like there’s a fuse box or something down there- If I can get it to open from this side…”

Hikaru gave him the thumbs up. Nyota didn’t respond.

“Hey!” Jim said, “If I pop this thing, we need to move pretty quick before anyone notices. You ready?”

Nyota startled, and looked up “I think this is a radio!” she said instead. “Not like one I’ve ever seen, but it’s definitely got a transmitter and a receiver. I bet I could get it going again, if we brought it.”

Jim stared at the mass of disembowelled wires on the floor in front of her. “Can you carry that?”

She waved her hand, and red sleeve of her dress flopped in the motion. “All machines are about eighty percent casing anyway. I can get the important bits, and do without the rest.”

Jim has a moment where he lets himself imagine what it would be like to eavesdrop on the guard chatter, on old-style radio waves to prevent interference from the Ion Cloud encircling the planet. Thinks about being able to warn the rest of the kids from miles away about what was coming. He thinks about tapping into the Public Broadcasting system rigged up on every street corner of Tarsus IV and he thinks maybe he could kiss Nyota.

“Wrap it up,” He says, “we’ll bring it,” and then he pops back into the darkness of the crawlspace. He eases his feet over the curve of the tube, and starts descending the world’s worst, dustiest, most dangerous slide. His hands shake around bundles of wires as he lowers himself, hand-over-hand to the floor of the tube, back scraping against the outer wall as he goes. Then, abruptly, his feet are on the ground and the decent is over. He’s still bent over oddly due to the curve of the whole structure, but he landed less than two steps away from the fuse box.

“Hikaru, can you get any more light down here?” Jim asks.

“Nope,” Hikaru says, but angles the panel a little more in Jim’s direction anyway. “That’s as far as the wire’ll let it go.”

Jim grunts in response, and splays his hands against the outside wall of the room, finding the locking mechanism and the edges of the access panel. It’ll be tight, but they’ll be able to make it. “Can you toss Nyota’s knife down then?”

There’s a responding clatter, and Nyota’s probably-a-piece-of-car lands right by Jim’s feet.

“Nice toss,” Jim picks it up, and jams it in above the hinges of the door. There’s not enough room, laterally or vertically, to get a good swing, so he settles for a series of short blows. On the fourth or fifth, he feels the bolt knock loose. On the sixteenth or seventeenth, the panel comes loose enough for him to jam the end of the ‘knife’ in it, and press both hands against the other end. The panel pops off it’s abused hinges, and for the first time in hours, Jim breathes clean air. He dipped his head to peer around outside, and sees nothing in the dark but a distant fence and trees beyond.

“Alright,” he calls back up as quietly as he can manage, “I’ve got it open. You two should come down after me.  Be quiet, if you can, it’s the middle of the night.”

By the time Hikaru’s sock feet hit the ground beside him, Kirk had one leg out the panel, and was working his shoulders free. By the time Nyota joined him, Jim was pulling his last leg from from the dusty crawlspace and into cool night air. He took a moment to heave a pair of deep breaths, ignoring the pull at his ribs and the gnawing hunger that hadn’t dissipated for weeks and then offered his hand to HIkaru to help him out.

He took it, and helped first Hikaru out of the impromptu emergency exit, then Nyota’s radio wrapped in Hikaru’s overshirt, and then Nyota herself. Kirk turned to go, and found Hikaru staring straight up.

“Oh,” Hikaru said, “We’re really not on earth, are we?”

“What?” Kirk said, “Of course not, what are you talking about?”

“The stars are all wrong,” Hikaru said, “And there’s only one starship in orbit.”

Jim, about to run for the fence and leave Hikaru to his fate, stilled in place. “You’re fucking with me,”

Hikaru glared at him, “I live in San Francisco, I know what a starship in orbit looks like,” He pointed straight up, at a tiny cluster of four lights that Jim guessed of a different quality than the other starlight. As he watched, one of them blinked once, then again, like the gentle putter of the impulse engines of the shuttle that brought him to Tarsus IV did.

“There she is,” HIkaru said.

“Holy shit,” Jim said, “Holy shit.”

He whipped around. “Nyota, do you think there’s any way that-“

She was already pulling her sort-of-a-radio from its protective covering. “I’ll need to hook it back into the building’s power, but if that’s a star ship, they should have alerts set on all frequencies.”

She pushed her hair out of her face and looked up at Kirk, “If we can get a signal up to them, they’ll hear us.”

Jim, heart pounding, hands shaking, practically in a dream, went back to the access panel in the structure.

“Can I see the input?”

Nyota shows him the wire, where they ripped it from the ceiling. Jim finds the same coloured wire inside the crawlspace that matches the colour on the radio, and ripped it from its moorings. He used their metal mutlitool to saw through the wire, and then twisted the ragged edges of his wire with the one that Nyota was cradling in her .

Nyota pulled the speaker unit into the centre of the three of them. It was circular and about the size of a bowling ball, with the mesh usually covering the front of a speaker missing and riddled with exposed wires. Jim started at it like it was the holy fucking grail.

“If this doesn’t work,” Jim said, “It’s probably going to be really really loud. And if it’s really really loud, I want you to drop it and follow me, ok? We’re going to be sprinting for the fence, and hoping like crazy there’s no patrols out in the woods tonight.”

Nyota and Hikaru nodded at him.

Jim took a deep, shuddering breath and hit the switch on the panel that looked like it powered the speaker unit and crossed his fingers.

Nothing happened.

Jim stared at the device, until Nyota elbowed him and hissed “Say something!”

“Unknown ship in orbit, can you hear me?” Jim said, “My name is James Tiberius Kirk, and there’s a famine on the surface, and there’s been a coup and the governor’s been murdering people to stretch the supplies longer, people’s lives are in danger, can you hear me? You have to help us, _please,”_ His voice cracked on the last word.

There was a moment of silence, and Jim felt the hope that’d been growing in his chest slowly wither and die.

“Well,” he says into the silence, “It was a good try, guys.”

And then-

“This is First Officer Spock of the Federation Vessel USS _Enterprise_ , hailing James Tiberius Kirk on the surface, please confirm your identity.”

Kirk has to slap a hand over his face to keep from whooping, and his cheek stings where the bruise is, but he says “I’m- James Kirk, yes that’s me, I’m here, I’m with two other survivors right now, you have to help us right, you’re the Federation, that’s what you _do_ , right?”

There’s another beat while they wait for a response.

“James Kirk, please identify the two other survivors accompanying you.”

“Nyota Uhura,” Nyota says, which is how Jim realizing he didn’t get their last names,

“Hikaru Sulu,” Hikaru says,

“Thank you, Uhura and Sulu,” says the voice on the radio. Spock, apparently. “We intend to beam the three you aboard our ship. Do you have any objections to this course of action?”

“First officer Spock,” Jim said, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt, “That course of action is the best news I’ve heard in months.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The landing party returns to the ship, and Spock narrates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a filthy liar, McCoy and Spock's characterisations are much more heavily influenced by their TOS versions than Kirk is.

The bridge was silent for a good 3.5 seconds following the Captain’s radio transmission. Spock broke it by clearing his throat and calling med bay.

“McCoy, please report to transporter room immediately.”

“What?” McCoy’s voice crackled back, “You find ‘em?”

“I believe so, Doctor.”

“They report any injuries?”

Spock hesitated. “Not as such, but statistically speaking-“

“I’ll be there. McCoy out.”

Spock sent the co-ordinates of the transmission to engineering, left Chekov in control of the bridge and walked –didn’t run- to the turbo lift that would take him to the transporter room. McCoy intercepted the turbolift on its journey down.

“Spock, what the hell-“

“Doctor, not two minutes ago we received a long-range radio transmission from the surface of Renua. From an individual who identified himself as James Tiberius Kirk, requesting immediate assistance and extraction, for himself and two others.”

“Well then I don’t see what the damn problem it, if Kirk-“

“Let me emphasize, doctor, that he did not identify himself as Captain Kirk, nor his companions as Lieutenants Uhura and Sulu, but himself as James Kirk and his companions as themselves as Hikaru Sulu and Nyota Uhura.”

There was silence for two point eight-three seconds.

“This really has you freaked out, huh.”

“I am experiencing a level of distress directly proportional to gravity of the situation, yes.”

“Directly proportional to the situation my eye, you haven’t called me ‘Doctor’ in months.” McCoy shifted his weight, and performed a superfluous check on his medical tricorder. “What do you think’s going on down there?”

“I do not have enough information to venture a hypothesis at this juncture.”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “I’m not looking for a thesis, I’m looking for a guess. Memory wipe? Time travel? Body snatchers?”

“I am attempting not to form unduly dire conclusions based on non-conclusive preliminary data.”

“You’re trying not to freak yourself out.”

“That is not what I said, Doctor.”

The lift arrived, the doors slid open, and McCoy clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m worried about them too.”

McCoy, in violation of Starfleet policy, entered the transporter room ahead of both the acting captain and the security team. Spock nodded at the ensign manning the transporter controls. The ensign, Jim knew his name but Spock did not, nodded in reply and before them on the transporter pad their ground party rematerialized.

Before him on the pad were- children. Adolescents, more correctly; but Spock would not put any of their ages above fourteen point eight. They were covered in dust, and clustered around what Spock assumed to be their improvised communications device. They were still dressed in Starfleet standard uniform, which fitted all of them poorly, but Jim most poorly of all.

Jim, if in fact, it was Jim, whipped around the moment the transport was finished. The new angle allowed the members of the crew present to view a pair of abrasions on the youth’s face. The gaunt, filthy child locked eyes with Spock.

“First officer Spock?” There was no recognition in his voice, just inquiry.

Spock inclined his head. “James Tiberius Kirk, I presume.”

“Holy shit, I made it.” He said, and then sat down shakily on the transporter stairs. He gripped the edge of the steps as though he were suffering from extreme vertigo.

“Mr. Kirk?” Spock said, “Do you need assistance?”

McCoy stepped forwards, even before Spock had concluded his sentence, and began his examination of the boy who professed to be Kirk.

The boy who resembled Sulu raised his hand. “Sir?” His uniform sleeve, heavy with the bands denoting the status of Lieutenant, slid halfway up his forearm to do so. “Can you tell us what’s going on?”

“We were kinda hoping you’d be able to tell us, frankly,” McCoy says.

“No, listen,” Kirk batted away McCoy’s scanner, and the interaction is so familiar Spock blinked in surprise, “You’ve gotta send a team down there, people are dying, Kodos has been killing people for months, there’s a famine and-“

“Kodos? Famine?” McCoy frowns, and switches off his tricorder. “Kid, what planet do you think you’re on?”

“Earth,” Sulu and Uhura reply, and Kirk says “Tarsus IV” simultaneously. They blink at each other in surprise.

“Wait, what?” Kirk said, “What the hell do you mean, we’re two months out from Earth, how the fu-“

“Actually,” Spock interrupted, “We are significantly farther from Earth than that. You are presently aboard the starship _Enterprise,_ an exploratory vessel in deep space in the Beta Quadrant, and six-point-eight months at warp five away from Federation space.”

Sulu gripped Uhura’s arm so tightly Spock saw her wince. Kirk simply leaned further back against the stairs.

“Jesus, Spock, are you _trying_ to send the kids into shock?” McCoy said.

“We will attempt to determine how it is you came to be on Renua,” Spock continued, “As well as ensure your safety during the course of our investigation.”

“I mean, that’s great,” Kirk said, “But you really gotta send someone to check out Tarsus IV like, yesterday. A few months ago, ideally. Now is better than never, but _now.”_

Spock inclined his head.

 Jim sank back against the step and put his head in his hands. His knuckles were cracked and bloody, his wrists disconcertingly thin. “ _Thank you_.”

“The three of you” Spock said, “will report to the medical bay for a full examination. McCoy, a word in private, if you would.”

McCoy looked faintly murderous, but allowed two members of the security team to lead the landing party to the medical bay in his absence. The moment the doors closed, he turned to glare at Spock.

“Now what the blasted-“

“Doctor I will remind you that we are still largely ignorant of the circumstances leading to the status of your newest patients-

“You lied to them! _Kids,_ Spock, they’re _Kids!”_

“Vulcans cannot lie, I merely implied-”

“You cheeky little-“

“-and moreover, I would encourage you to do the same if necessary,”

“I’ll do no such thing unless you explain yourself!”

“Doctor!” Spock took a deep breath. McCoy was similarly breathing with more vigor than usual. “As I have said, we do not know the circumstances which have resulted in this predicament. We do not know if we have encountered an additional parallel universe, nor if these versions of our crewmates have been removed from the time stream we are now in, nor if they will be returned to their original circumstances with the memory they have gained when this situation is resolved. Nor even if these are, in fact, the same individuals we sent to the planet rather than elaborate facsimiles.”

“Fine,” McCoy said. “ _Fine_. I get it.” He scrubbed one hand over his face, “Whaddya want me to do then?”

“I was not lying earlier, Doctor,” Spock said, “Full physicals, for each of them, to determine how long they have been on Renua, and to determine if they are, in fact, the same individuals we sent down to the planet’s surface. You have the full medical records of the entire crew, correct?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Conduct the physical examination. Confine them to Med bay, and report to me when you are finished. Tell them nothing. Tell the crew nothing. Ensure the security personnel escorting them to the medical bay receive the same instructions.”

McCoy sighed. “I’ll do it. But I don’t have to like it.” He turned to go.

“McCoy,” Spock said, “Leonard.” McCoy turned to meet his gaze.

“We will get them back.”

He nearly smiled. “You know, Spock. I even believe you.”

Then he was gone, and Spock was alone in the transporter room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spock and Bones are fun to write, holy god Spock and Bones are fun to write. They seem way closer in the AOS 'verse, and also Spock is slightly more in touch with his emotions? So that's what this is.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCoy writes, and gives a report on the landing party

So, McCoy has a bunch of kids to look after. And those children might be either elaborate copies of members of the bridge crew, or the bridge crew themselves. Honestly, this is not the weirdest gamma shift he’s ever had. With this thought fixed firmly in the front of his mind, McCoy opens the doors to the med bay, and dismisses the two security officers that acted as escorts for the kids.

“Nurse Chapel,” He greets, “We’re doing a trio of standard intakes today, for the new patients we picked up off Renua.”

They make eye contact over the heads of the kids, and Chapel replies, “Collecting full histories? Creating new files?”

McCoy gives himself a brief moment to be grateful that he and Chapel have worked so many years, and so many enterprise-only scenarios together that they have a nearly telepathic connection. “The whole nine yards, Nurse. From scratch, we’re not gonna be able to get their medical histories this deep out.”

Chapel nods, and McCoy drops a hand on Kirk’s shoulder. He knew about Tarsus IV, not that Jim ever told him. You can only spend so many years as someone’s primary physician without noticing the glaring hole in their medical records, before you do a quick search on significant events in those two years. He had spent the day after he found out thoroughly drunk, Knowing, academically, that one of his best friends had lived through the worst massacre in recent history was a hell of a lot different than being able to feel the bird-thin bones of Jim’s shoulder poking into his hand, to say nothing of the gash on his forehead that McCoy was almost certain would turn into the scar just under his hairline.

He nods at Kirk. “I’ll get this one, if you get the other two. Work for you kids?”

He can feel Kirk tense beneath his hand as Sulu and Uhura (probably) nod, but he agrees as well.

The kid stays tense Chapel escorted the other two to another section of the medbay, and McCoy doesn’t miss the way Sulu’s gaze darts back towards Kirk. Kirk nods back at him before Sulu disappears around the partition, and the tensed shoulder McCOy can feel translate into crossed arms and hunched shoulders McCoy can see. McCoy can’t help but feel a rush of affection for this kid, whoever he actually is. He leans down, so he was more on the kid’s level.

“I figured you might want some privacy,” He says, and Jim whips back around.

“Yeah? Why?”

Mcoy raises an eyebrow. “Because those two have minor bumps and bruises, and you have a concussion, a festering phaser burn and severe malnutrition that I need to document, which includes taking holos of the injuries. You can do that with me behind a curtain, we can do that in front of them. Your call.”

Jim straightens indignantly. “It’s not fester- How did you-“

“I scanned you while you were on the steps, and it’s definitely festering. Now, can I take a look at you or not?” Alright, maybe McCoy should have busted out his proper bedside manner, but Jim’s never responded to anything but blunt force. This Jim doesn’t seem to be the exception to the rule.

He hops on a bedside table, grumbling all the while and starts to peel off what is, now that McCoy is looking properly, is definitely the Captain’s dress uniform.

“Name for the record?” McCoy prompts, and turns on his tricorder.

“James Tiberius Kirk, Doc, but I said that already.”

“That’s why I said _for the record._ Now, _for the record_ , James Tiberius Kirk, how old are you?”

This gets McCoy a pause, as Kirk slides the hideous green dress shirt over his head. “Thirteen? No wait, it’s March, isn’t it. Fourteen. Is it March?”

“We’re all on Stardate Standard out here,” McCoy tells him, which isn’t technically a lie, “I’m not actually sure. I’ll put you down as fourteen for now.”

“Thanks, Doctor.”

McCoy sighed, and resigned himself to the inevitable. “Call me Bones, kid, everyone does.”

Kirk stills, tangled in the shirt in his lap, and Mcoy thinks he nearly smiled. “That,” Kirk says, is a terrible name for a doctor.”

“Yeah,” McCoy agrees, “They guy who stuck me with it is a real asshole.”

“Well then Bones,” the kid says magnanimously, “You can call me Jim.”

“Right, Jim,” Bones says, “Undershirt too, come on. You got any allergies?”

As Jim rattles off his extensive list (he misses a common sedative and stone fruit- McCoy’ll make sure that those get added to the file later), while McCoy makes thoughtful noises.

“You know your blood type?”

“B-Negative,” Jim says, and it should probably concern McCoy that Jim knows that as a fourteen year old, but he’s not sure he expected anything less.

Jim pulls his undershirt off, and it’s really only four years of being CMO aboard the enterprise that keep him from swearing. The kid looks like his skin’s been vacuum-sealed to the bones below,

“Alright,” McCoy says, and picks up the detachable part of the scanner. “Let’s start with the obvious, and work our way down. How long have you had that dent in your skull?”

Jim winces. “Well-“

-

“Two months, Spock!” McCoy states, depositing his data pad on the table of the ready room with significantly more force than is necessary. “The kid had been running for his life with a grade three concussion for two months! Light sensitivity! Nausea! Near daily migraines! He said got it fighting with a member of an _execution squad!_ ”

McCoy jabs his finger at the pad, “Plus, a phaser burn on his left shoulder, with an infection reaching clear through the trapezius nearly to the bone, not to mention three bruised ribs, a broken finger that I nearly didn’t notice because it was his hands were so covered in cuts and bruises, and sores and blisters all over his feet which haven’t closed, and that I can’t the dermal regenerator won’t seal up because there’s not enough strength in the surrounding tissue to pull the energy from.”

Spock retrieved McCoy’s pad halfway through his statement, and had proceeded to flip through the report in its entirety.  “Has the regenerator ever failed to repair similar wounds before?” He asks.

“The regenerator’s not meant for use on a patient suffering from malnutrition and borderline scurvy,” McCoy says, “It just accelerates the body’s natural repair system, it doesn’t generate its own skin. There’s not enough energy left in the kid’s body for the regenerator to safely direct it towards healing. He’s a mess.”

Spock nods “What is your recommendation?”

“Head wound’s the priority,” McCoy says promptly, “and the shoulder after that. I’ve already set the finger, and slathered all of his open wounds in antibiotics, and then wrapped them in more gauze than the med bay usually uses in a month. I’ve risked the regenerator on the concussion and the infection briefly, nut everything else’ll be healing the old fashioned way until we get his body weight back up to something even resembling normal for his age. Which is going to take a couple of weeks, by the way. It’s going to be five or six days before I’m happy giving him anything to eat that’s not protein paste, which I’m sure is going to thrill him. I’ve already drafted a dietary plan, easing him back up to a regular diet don’t send his digestive system into shock.”

Spock flipped through the report until he found the page filled with calorie counts, vitamin supplements and a largely liquid diet.

“I trust your judgement,” Spock hands the pad back to the doctor.

“Well, it’s about time somebody did.” McCoy took it, and tucked it under one arm. “Uhura’s fine, by the way. Sprained wrist, couple of bumps and bruises, already back to the picture of perfect health, aside from being a decade and change younger than she should be. Keeps asking about whether or not her parents know what’s happened. Hell, I wish I knew what happened.”

“But you are convinced that these are, in fact, the same individuals we sent down? Not copies?”

“Spock, I know the command crew’s medical records inside out. I see Scotty’s dental records behind my eyelids when I close my eyes at night. I cross-referenced bone breaks, scars, dental records, height and weight from their family doctors deep in the back of their files. They’re who they say they are, but all of ‘em exactly three days past their fourteenth birthday.”

Spock looks at Nyota’s single page in the file, as compared to Jim’s seventeen. “The question,” he says, “of course, is how. Why?”

“The question is what the hell are we going to do with them in the meantime while we figure it out!” McCoy retorted. “I can’t keep ‘em in the medbay forever!”

Spock hesitated a moment before saying. “We could place them in the quarters reserved for transporting dignitaries. They are unoccupied, and likely to remain so until we have resolved the situation. Also, there are entertainment and hygiene facilities in the chambers themselves, minimizing exposure to the crew.”

“Are you still worried about the whole time travel thing?” McCoy snorted, “That horse is gone, commander, no sense in closing the barn door now. We send ‘em back now, exactly as they are, we’ve already changed whatever was intended to happen.”

“I am no longer concerned about the possibility of time travel,” Spock says.

“Oh?”

“I have had Chekov and Scott checking the planet’s energy emissions from the moment the party landed, to the moment they beamed back aboard,” Spock confesses, “and they have thus far discovered no energy signatures of the magnitude that would suggest any temporal travel. I am, at this juncture, more concerned about the effect on the crew.”

“An’ just what would that be?” McCoy asks.

Spock raises an eyebrow “To see their captain and a not inconsiderable percentage of the command crew as adolecsents, with no projected cure? To see the captain himself as he currently is? Do you not expect that to have an effect on morale?”

McCoy glares at him. “I hate it when you’re right. I’ll send up the replicator modifications and ask the quartermaster to send up some of the extra-small women’s under uniforms. Just the blacks, rather than the whole kit and caboodle.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at him.

“Don’t give me that,” McCoy says, “They’re fourteen, not four. That sizing should be just about right, an’ it’s not like we can have em wandering around in hospital gowns or full uniforms.”

“I will ensure that the quartermaster sends up the appropriate supplies.” Spock says.

McCoy sighed, then rubbed at his face and stood to leave. “Commander, if you’ll excuse me, I still have a letter to write to the other Mister Sulu. How I’m gonna break the news that his husband’s barely older than their kid, I dunno.”

Spock took a moment to process this information, then blinked in surprise. “Doctor, should you not contact the Lieutenant Uhura and the Captain’s next of kin as well?”

“Spock, bless your oblivious Vulcan heart,” McCoy says, and for the first time in their conversation, he sounds tired rather than furious, “What do you think this conversation was?”

“I-,” Spock opens his mouth, and then closed it again. “Dismissed, doctor.”

“Thanks. Get some rest, Spock.”

“I will try, Leonard.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kids Aren't Alright. see end of chapter for warnings.

“These,” Sulu said, admiring their quarters with his hands on his hips, “Are not bad digs.”

“Except for the fact that they are not letting us leave,” Nyota is flopped over on one of the sunken couches, a mug of fruity tea in front of her.

“There is that,” Sulu agrees.

Nyota blew at her mug, sending steam billowing gently across the table. “Also, I think there is something strange about these pads.”

They both look over at Jim, who was occupied with prodding at the gauze pad that covered his entire left shoulder, gingerly covering the phaser burn. The skin was clean, even the mild topical anesthetic they’d applied in the medbay was more relief than he’d had in months.

“Jim?” Sulu says.

Jim drops his hand like he’s been shocked. “Yeah, what?”

“Come take a look at this,” Nyota says, gesturing with the pad.

Jim scrambles over the back of the couch, and settles on Nyota’s other side as she puts the pad down on the table so all three of them can see it.

“What about it?” Jim says, looking at the single pad Bones had left for the three of them.

“It just seems-“ Nyota lets out a frustrated breath, “Like there are things missing that should be there? It’s hard to say. There’s spaces and nothing is filling them.”

“Where?” Hikaru says, grabbing the pad.

“You can’t see it, it’s not _there_ ,” Nyota says, swiping it back, and Jim inches away from their flailing, “That’s the whole problem! It is what isn’t there that’s strange!”

“Ok, explain that one to me,” Jim says.

Nyota, pad firmly settled in her lap, flips one of the knobs at the side. “ _So_ ,” she says, “when you open a file, on a pad, you can see how many other people are watching it, right? Even if you don’t know who, you know how many people have looked at the file.”

“No?” Hikaru says, “I had no idea you could do that on a pad?”

Nyota snorts. “You have clearly not grown up with a dozen cousins and an overbearing grandmother. We all learned exactly once that she could see when someone was making a date. She didn’t know who it was, so called all the cousins in together to interrogate us.”

“Huh,” Hikaru raises his eyebrows, “Learn something new every day.”

“Right,” Nyota says, “And the pads on a ship are all hooked up to the same network, right?”

“Sure,” Jim says,

“Then _why_ ,” Nyota says, flipping through file after file, “Is no one watching these holos, or reading these reports?”

And she’s right. Holo after holo, story after story, the pad reports the same data. Zero others observing, zero others observing, one other observing, zero others observing, and so on. The pad starts to swim before Jim’s eyes.

Nyota looks up at the two of them. “This is strange, right?”

Hikaru’s brow furrows. “There must be four hundred people on a ship this size. Where’s the activity?”

“We don’t have all the files,” Jim says, “We must not. Right? The activity’s there, but we’re looking in the wrong direction?”

“Sure, but _why_ ,” Hikaru says, “This is an entertainment pad, it’s not like they’re keeping us from the personnel files. Or classified info. Or official communications.”

Jim shut his eyes against the brightness of the pad, and pressed the heels of his hands deep into his eye sockets. “Godamnit. God _damnit._ ”

“Jim?” He heard Hikaru shift on the couch, “Are you ok?”

“No!” Jim says, “The damn pad’s giving me a headache, and they haven’t told us a damn thing about where we are, and I don’t know if the rest of the kids are safe and I’m a goddamn _idiot,_ I should have made them go back down there, I was taking care of them, I should have- and now there’s _this fucking thing that I have to deal with_ , _no I’m not fucking ok!”_

Someone shifts beside him. “Jim.”

He throws off the hand on his shoulder, and puts his head between his knees. “Fuck. I should have known better. This was all too good to be true. Some fucking, _starship_ comes out of nowhere to find us, there’s no way. There’s no way.” His hands were shaking, and his stomach is twisting angrily around the first substantial mean he’s had in months.

“James, you’re hyperventilating.”

“No, fuck you, fuck-“ and then Jim is throwing up on the floor.

“Ugh,” Hikaru says.

“Jim, I’m calling the doctor.” Nyota is already moving towards the com, stumbling on her way.

Jim retches again, and spits half-digested protein paste and bile back onto the floor.

“I don’t know, he just-“ Nyota let out a frustrated noise, on her tip-toes to reach the com unit in the wall. “I don’t know the word in standard! You Americans still only ever learn one language, and-“

“Hyperventilated and threw up,” Hikaru offered from Jims side, where he was still occupied dry-heaving. Hikaru was patting Jim’s back, and angling his feet away from the puddle.

The unit in the wall crackled, and doctor McCoy’s voice came through the speakers “The universal translator on this sip’s calibrated for Swahili, tell me what’s going on.” He ordered

“Oh thank-“ and then there was a little ripple in the sound quality, and Nyota continued “He’s dry-heaving now, but he threw up all over the floor and I think he also had a panic attack? I’m not sure, but he started hyperventilating and freaking out, and he’s not ok”

“What?” Bone’s voice crackles through the speakers, “Do you know what set it off?”

She looks back at Jim and Hikaru, and then says “No idea. We were just settling in when it started.”

Even Jim, all the way over on the couch, can hear the doctor’s reply. “Figures. Sit tight, I’ll send someone up to get ya. I wanna check him over down here.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Nyota released the button on the com and turned back around slowly. Jim hut his eyes against the spinning of the room and focused on taking shallow breaths. The conversation happening over his head seemed to be happening far, far away.

“…should stay here and keep looking…”

“…of us should go with…”

“… here and find,”

And then doors were opening and there were hands under Jim’s arms and he-

He clenched his fist and swung. It hit the soft underbelly of one of the guards and and then he was diving into another one, throwing his entire upper body at that place at the back of the thighs that would topple anyone if you hit it right. And then he’s scrambling over the coffee table, grabbing the data pad and chucking it at the face of the one between him and the door. And he runs for it. He gets maybe two steps out the door before someone catches him around the the waist and lifts him in a bear hug, his legs spinning uselessly in the air.

“Kid!” The person says, “What the hell are you-?”

Jim throws his weight forward and cracks his head back with as much force as he can muster, and something cracks against the back of his skull.

“Sunofa-“ but the arms just tighten around him, rather than letting go, and his voice now is thick with blood. “Nurse! Can one of you do something about this-“

“Jim!”

And Jim whips his head over to where Nyota’s gripping the couch with terror.

“Run!” He says, “Run! They’ve found us you gotta-“

“Jim!” That’s Hikaru this time, and he’s making his way towards him, eyes wide, hands out, “Jim, do you know where you are?”

Jim looks at him, breathing heavy, looks at the shattered pad on the floor, at the woman in a starfleet nursing uniform helping her colleague off the floor. He stops kicking against the guard’s shins.

“Oh.” He sunk a little further into the arms holding him off the floor.

“Can I put you down now?” The man in question sounds almost amused, and lets him go before Jim can respond, dropping him the two inches to the floor.

Jim turned around to see a man in security red pinching a bloody nose. “My bad,” he offered wealkly.

The security officer (an _officer_ , Jim notes the braid on his sleeves with a sinking heart, he assaulted an _officer_ ) looks at him in amusement for a moment, blood dripping down his chin into his goatee, and then back up at the nurses.

“Are you alright, Hendorff?” one of them asks.

“Just a bloody nose, I’ll be fine,” he says, “I’m joining you on your trip to the medbay though.”

“I’m coming too!” Nyota blurts.

Hendorff, Jim isn’t familiar enough with Starfleet ranks to tell his official title from his sleeves, looks at her for a moment. His eyes flick between her and Hikaru.

“Uhura, right?” He asks.

Nyota nods sharply. “And I’m coming with you. Jim, are you?”

Jim gingerly presses at the back of his head. “I’m fine. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“Jim, you had a panic attack and threw up on the floor. You’re definitely not fine.”

Jim furrows his brow. “That’s not no, did-“

“ _No._ I’m coming with you because I’m _worried_.”

“Oh.”

Nyota makes her way to his side, and puts herself between him and Hendorff, crossing her arms over her chest. He looks at down at her like the whole situation is funny. Jim’s glad someone thinks so.

“I’m going,” Nyota says again, brooking no disagreement, “With all of you to the medbay.”

“Alright.” Hendorff says. “Chapel, K’Tivv, are you two alright?”

Jim had forgotten about the two nurses he took out on his dash for freedom.

“Fine Lieutenant.” The Andorian says, “No injuries to report. Although I’m tempted to call a stretcher for our patient.”

“I can walk!” Jim says, “It’s not that far anyway, we just came from there.”

“We can’t have been out for more than half an hour,” Nyota says.

One of the nurses snorts and takes the lead, and Nyota links her arm with Jim’s to walk with him. She doesn’t say anything as he leans more and more of his weight on her, simply holds him upright until they medbay doors. They open to reveal scowling over a pair of crossed arms.

“You,” He tells Jim, “Are undoing all my hard work.” He seems to notice Hendorff as he’s ushering them into the bay. “Please tell me this is an unrelated nose bleed.”

“Wish I could, doctor,” Hedorff replies, and that’s when Nyota stiffens next to Jim.

In front of them, sitting up on one of the bio beds, feeding green blood into a bag at his side, is Spock, looking as close to a Vulcan ever gets to shocked. Jim stiffens right back, turning him and Nyota into twin boards of panic and fear. Spock nods to Hendorff as he passes by with one of the nurses and then returns his gaze to Jim and Nyota. He raises one eyebrow.

“What’re you looking at?” Jim says. Nyota elbows him. “…Sir.” He adds.

“Why have you returned to medbay?” Spock asks.

McCoy pushes his way through Jim and Nyota, and puts Jim on one of the beds. “Because I was an idiot and thought this one could jump straight to solid foods.”

“Protien paste is definitely not a solid food,” Jim protests

“It’s about to get less solid,” McCoy tells him grimly, stringing up an IV bag. “Nutrients through a drip. Apple Juice. Popsicles. Maybe, _maybe,_ depending on how you’re doing in the morning, we can get you a jello cup. _Maybe._ ” He threads the IV needle into the crook of Jim’s elbow with the effortless, nearly absentminded way that speaks to someone having done the same task hundreds of times before. Nyota is by Spock’s bed, talking with him. Whatever they’re talking about, it seems to hold her full attention.

“Hey,” Jim says, “You think that this might just be because my digestive system’s all fucked up?”

McCoy slows as he’s checking the IV, hands stilling on the bag. “Could be. Why?”

“I just-“ Jim takes a deep breath in, and lets it out again. “Can you forward this information to whatever ship’s doing the recovery mission on Tarsus? I made sure that the younger kids got better food than me,  or if they were hurt, but Tommy’s got some sort of eye infection, and Lilah’s got the fungus in a big cut in her leg, and little Kev –Kevin Riley, he can’t be more than eight- he’s breathing funny, and if I can’t keep food down than they’ll-“

“Kid.” Bones sets a hand on Jim’s shoulder, and looks him in the eye. “I’m sure they’re fine. We’ve sent the report off, they’re going to have boots on the ground any day now. And better prepared than we were, when we beamed you aboard. They’re in good hands. Your job is done.”

Over Bones’ shoulder, Nyota’s hands are twisting nervously behind her back, out of sight of the acting captain on the bed in front of her.

“Kid,” Bones says, and shakes him lightly to regain his attention, “You gotta take care of yourself now. Can you promise me that?”

Jim wrenches his eyes from Nyota to meet his eyes. “I’ll look out for myself. I promise.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Jim throws up and also there is a short fight scene, a panic attack and a bloody nose. 
> 
> Also, I suddenly looked up and nearly a week had gone by without my updating this, sorry folks. Longer chapter to apologise for the wait. Next time, what are Spock and Nyota talking about?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author waxes poetic about language and twenty-third century terran geopolitics more than actually develops the plot, but also Uhura discovers some important information, and talks a little with Spock.

Nyota focused on Doctor McCoy and Jim until it became clear that they were absorbed entirely in each other, and she no longer had any excuse not to investigate the prickling at the back of her neck. Lying on the bed beside Jim’s in the medbay was the acting captain, looking quite relaxed, contributing green Vulcan blood to a bag that hung just below knee level. She caught his gaze, and he raises an eyebrow.

“I heard your transmission to medbay,” he says, either unashamed of eavesdropping or simply not caring that he’s being rude, “Your actions are commendable.”

Nyota stands up straighter, pushes her shoulders back. “Oh?”

“Indeed. You maintained a level of rationality that I have found rare in young humans, in a time of crisis. Not to mention that you have been functioning thus far aboard the ship communicating solely in your second language. Very few would have been able to perform as admirably.”

“Fourth,” Nyota says.

The commander’s eyebrows draw closer together. “What do you mean, fourth?”

“Standard’s not my second language,” Nyota corrects, “It’s my fourth.”

Spock looks as impressed as it’s possible for a Vulcan to look, which is to say, not very. “Even more so, in that case. May I inquire as to the other two?”

“French and Orion,” Nyota says, “I learned French first, but I’m more fluent in Orion.”

“Fascinating.” Spock says, “What reason did you have to select those two languages?”

“Why do you care?” Nyota asks.

Spock raises an eyebrow. “I am confined to this bed for another eight point three minutes until this procedure is completed. You are, I infer, similarly confined here until the doctor passes his judgement on your companion. It is logical to occupy one another’s attention in time that would otherwise be spent in idleness, would you not agree?”

“You don’t have reports or something to do?” Nyota’s grasp on the duties of a Starfleet commander are vague, but she’s pretty sure that there’s paperwork involved.

“I do,” Spock says. “The doctor, however, has forbidden completion of official starfleet reports from his medical bay on pain of infection with Malcorian Fever. I am unsure whether or not he made this declaration in jest.”

It’s Nyota’s turn to raise her eyebrows, “Malcorian fever?”

“I am assured it is quite unpleasant, and have no desire to add a personal account to my knowledge of the disease.” Spock re-adjusts the tube running out of his arm. “French is a native Terran language, I am aware, but why Orion?”

“The African Confederation is home to the largest Orion diaspora outside Orion space,” she replies coldly, “I grew up hearing more Orion than I did standard.”

Spock studies her closely for a moment, eyes tracking over her face. “I apologise if I caused any offense.” He says, “I was unaware there was such an Orion presence on Earth. I have only ever had occasion to visit San Francisco.”

“San Francisco isn’t the only space port on the planet, you know,” Nyota says, “There have been ships launching out of Nairobi just as long as they’ve been launching out of Moscow.”

“And yet you spoke a language foreign to your planet before you learned to speak one developed expressly for ease of international use on earth?”

“You can’t just create a simplified English and call that a planetary standard language,” Nyota can feel herself growing bitter, but he did ask, “I didn’t want to learn it for a long time. I only started a couple of years ago. It’s mandatory in Junior high.”

“You learned French and Orion of your own volition, not at the behest of an instructor?” Spock asks.

“My mom speaks Swahili, my dad spoke French, and half my neighbours speak Orion,” She says, “Only tourists speak Standard.”

Spock’s lips twitch. “Understandable, if not entirely logical.”

 “And what’s the commander of a starship doing in medbay anyway?” Nyota asks, hoping that the switch in topics isn’t so obvious that Spock will object, but one rude turn deserves another, she thinks.

Thankfully, he simply raised the arm that had the needle tucked in the crook of the elbow. “I would have thought the purpose of my visit obvious,” He said.

“Surely there are more important things for a commander to be doing than donating blood.” Nyota says.

“There certainly are,” Spock agrees, settling his arms back to their former position folded on his chest, “And yet, the doctor insists I donate blood once a month.”

“That’s because the mess on the bed,” McCoy says, appearing as though summoned, “Won’t take human blood transfusions, or Vucan ones, or plasma donations of either type. We have to keep his own supply on hand to keep his DNA from pulling itself apart every time he comes in with bloodloss.”

“That is a blatant exaggeration doctor,” Spock says, and doesn’t even flinch as McCoy checks the bag of blood, and pulls the needle from his arm. “It would take significantly more than an incompatible blood donation to rend the hydrogen bonds of DNA strands.”

“No, you’re right,” the doctor agreed, “You’d just go get a hemolytic fusion reaction and die in terrible pain. Much better. I can see how you’d prefer that explanation.”

“It is accurate, doctor, and thus preferable in every situation,” Spock is rolling his sleeve back down over his forearm, pushing the commander rank braids into full view. “May I return to my duties as acting captain, or do you have objections to this as well?”

“Actually,” Nyota surprises both herself and the two Starfleet officers by interjecting, “Do you mind if I meet the captain? I’d like to thank him, at least.”

McCoy and Spock exchange a look.

“That will be rather difficult,” Spock says, “As our last official communication with the captain came some seventeen point three-four hours before we beamed you aboard the ship.”

“Oh,” Nyota says. She’s not sure how else to react to that. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you must be very worried.”

“Worry is illogical,” Spock says.

“We are,” McCoy says.

They glare at each other for a moment. “What the doctor means to say,” Spock says eventually, “Is that the crew is attempting to retrieve the landing party with all the resources at their disposal, because their loss would be an irreparable blow to both the functioning of this ship, as well as a loss to Starfleet command.”

“I’m telling the captain you said that.” McCoy retorts.

Spock somehow gives the impression of sighing without lowering himself to such blatant expressions of emotion.

“Oh!” Nyota says, memories suddenly clicking into place, “You thought we were them, didn’t you? When we used the radio to contact the ship. You thought we were the landing party.”

They both stare at her for a moment.

“We were expecting a transmission from the captain and the two lieutenants, yes.” Spock says eventually.

“Huh,” Nyota says. Suddenly, the reactions of the crew on the transporter pad make significantly more sense. “We must have been quite the surprise.”

Spock’s eyes flicker to the bed behind her where Jim is asleep apparently without his volition. “Your appearance was certainly unanticipated. Jim Kirk’s in particular.”

“He’s out, by the way.” McCoy says, “And I’m keeping him overnight for observation. No arguments.”

Spock nods, and then returns his gaze to Nyota. “If you are amenable,” he says, “I will escort you back to the quarters you share with Hikaru Sulu.”

“And I should get this into the freezer,” McCoy says, hefting his bag of green blood. “Your hybrid biology is volatile enough without adding improper storage procedures to the list of risks.”

“I am perfectly stable.” Spock says, rising from the bed without breaking eye contact with the doctor. “As you well know doctor. You have been monitoring my, as you are so fond of saying, 'damn fool vulcan science experiment' for several years now.” He straightens his shirt, and then looks down at Nyota. “Will you be accompanying me?”

“Alright.” Nyota says, and follows him out of the medbay silently, turning the conversation over and over again in her head.

As far as she knows, there’s exactly one Vulcan-human hybrid known to the federation. And he, Nyota knows, even as she stares up at the green-tinted ears that prove it’s false, is only a single year older than she is. If she’s remembering her xenobiology course right, he’s even named Spock. She remains silent as the turbolift takes them away from the medbay. To one side is an officer who looks to be on the other side of thirty. Potentially more, if the vulcan DNA is dominant over the human DNA. Nyota remains silent as the turbo lift ascends. And she thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -drags hands down face- this chapter required so much research kill me now


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyota and Hikaru have a conversation

 

Nyota returns from the medbay, and barely allows the door slide shut behind her before her calm, relaxed face slips into actual, not at all concealed anxiety. Hikaru pushes himself off the couch to greet her.

“Is Jim ok?”

She nods absently. “They’re keeping him overnight. Did you check the room like we said?”

“Yeah,” For want of something better to do, he sits back down on the couch, and props his feet up on the table. “These are the ambassador’s quarters, I’m pretty sure. Not personal enough to be the captain’s quarters, but no cameras in anything but the computers.

“Good.” Nyota sinks down onto the couch beside him.

“Jim is ok, right? Because you’re really acting like maybe Jim isn’t ok.”

“No I-“ She took a deep breath, “I’m going to say something, and you have to promise not to think I’m crazy.”

Hikaru raised his eyebrows. “Nyota, I’m not sure you’ve been paying attention, but we’ve been abducted by aliens. And, yeah, rescued by the federation after, but-“

“I think we’re in the future,” she said, so rapidly it all sounded like a single word, ithinkwereinthefuture.

Hikaru blinks once or twice while he tries to untangle her sentance. Nyota stared at her hands, clenched in fists on her knees.

“The future.”

“I’m not crazy.” She says, and doesn’t look up. “It makes at least a little bit of sense, right? If we’re in deep space? One impossible thing follows another?”

“Ok.” He pushes the sleeves of his Starfleet blacks up to his elbows- they don’t cover his whole arm anyway. “What makes you think that.”

“The first officer, the acting captain?”

“Spock, right?” Hikaru says, “Scary looking guy, lieutenant commander, Vulcan?”

“Yeah,” Nyota says, “Except he’s not Vulcan. Not totally Vulcan. He’s half human.”

“Huh. Ok I’ll bite. What does that have to do with anything?”

“In middle school,” Nyota says, which Hikaru thinks is a weird way to start this explanation, “We all had to give presentations on milestones in human reproductive progress. The first artificial insemination, the first clone baby, the genetically engineered fetus that started the eugenics wars, that sort of thing. My best friend was assigned the first human/Vulcan hybrid, and the whole time all I could think was how weird it was to be presenting on part of history that was only a couple of years older than we were.”

 “Spock must be thirty, easily,” Hikaru says, floored.

“And Vulcans age slower than humans!” Nyota adds, “He could be anywhere from twenty five to a _hundred_ and twenty five! 

“So, if you’re right, we’re something like ten years to a century in the future.”

Nyota nods. She’s still staring at her hands.

“That’s a hell of a margin of error.” Hikaru blew out a long breath. “Well I’m glad I’m not the one that had to say it. I thought you’d think I was crazy.”

That gets her attention. “What? You think I might be right?”

“I mean, there is precedent,” Hikaru says,” Admiral Archer and part of his crew got tossed back into like, the twentieth century for a while, back when he was a starship captain. So it’s theoretically possible.”

“Besides,” He hesitates, “I heard about Tarsus IV on the news last year. It ate up all the news cycles for like, two months. The first survivors made it back to earth a couple of months ago.”

The silence that follows is terrible. Nyota is stock-still, and he can practically see the gears turning in her head. “What year is it for you?”

“October, 2246?” Hikaru said. “I dunno the exact date. Something like the fourteenth or fifteenth, depending how long we’ve been up here.”

Nyota stared at him blankly.

“Oh my god,” he said, suddenly seized by panic, “You’re not from like, fifty years ago are you? A _hundred?”_

“No!” Nyota said, “Of course not! It’s just- it’s April 2244 for me. It never even occurred to me that we might be from different times.”

“Oh thank fucking-“ Hikaru claps a hand to his chest, “God, imagine if that was the time gap between the three of us. How was I gonna explain that if you were like, from the twenty-first century or something?”

“Given that being beamed aboard a starship didn’t freak me out, I think you might have guessed.” Nyota says dryly.

“Ok fair,” Hikaru says, “And I _knew_ what year Jim was from. So what does that mean? That the three of us, from three consecutive years, end up in a changing room on the other end of the galaxy.”

“On the exact same planet that the officers from this ship got sent down and went missing,” Nyota adds.

“Shit,” Hikaru says, “Do you think that’s why they got sent down? That this planet’s been temporally kidnapping teenagers?”

“Maybe,” Nyota hedges, “But I really think they weren’t expecting to see us. I don’t think they knew we were down there at all, or they would have beamed right to where we were being kept and freed us, right?”

“Ugh, you’re right,” Hikaru runs his hands through his hair. “So we’ve got a missing Starfleet team, the three of us yanked into the future and aliens on the surface of, what was the name of the planet we’re orbiting, Renuia? Renua?” Hikaru frowns, “Actually, do we even know there are aliens down there? What if it’s just-“

Nyota grabs his arm, thoroughly interrupting his train of thought “Wait, say that first part again.”

“The missing Starfleet team?”

“And us,” Nyota says, fire in her eyes and frenzy in her voice, “Three of each. Hikaru, what if we weren’t taken. What if we were _swapped?”_

It takes him a split-second for the pieces to slot into place, and then he’s gripping her right back, “So if we’re here-“

“The landing party is when _we’re_ supposed to be. In our time.”

“Hell, in our _clothes_ , probably,” Hikaru says, mind whirring. “That explains the uniforms we woke up in! They belonged to the team they sent down!” He’s so giddy he could nearly laugh, answers, _finally_ answers!

“The team they’re trying to get back,” Nyota adds, “Which is fine for you and me but-“

“-It’d send Jim back to Tarsus,” Hikaru says, and just like that his good mood is snuffed out like a light. “It’d send Jim back to-”

Hikaru's stomach churns as he remembers the picture that had been plastered over every news channel in the federation, a skin and bones toddler, clinging to neck of a rescue worker, too exausted and hungry to even cry.  "Nyota there are only going to be nine survivors, from the citizens on the kill list. If we let them send him back he'll die there."

“He had the captain’s stripes on his sleeve, when we woke up,” Nyota says, “He’ll be the first one they try to send. I heard the doctor and the first officer speaking, they’ll do anything to get their captain back.”

“Well,” Hikaru says, and he sees his own resolve reflected in Nyota’s face, “We’ll just have to do anything to stop them”

“Like what?” Nyota says, “They have the whole ship, hundreds of people. It’s not like the three of us can just take it over.”

“Oh, I dunno,” Hikaru says, and flashes her a grin, “I always fancied myself a bit of a pirate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter one this time, but it's crunch time for my end-of-summer projects, and I don't know how often (or at all) I'll be able to post next week. Be prepared.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim comes back from med bay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: some terrible, Tarsus-related shit is mentioned in passing, bottom if you want to see notes in detail.

 

Jim didn’t get released from the medbay until nearly ten the next morning.It was long enough that Bones, the supervising doctor disappeared off shift, presumably slept, and then re-appeared exactly as angry and rumpled as before, with the addition of a travelling mug full of coffee. McCoy checked him over, grumbling under his breath, and found a security escort to take him back up to the Nyota and Hikaru. It was the same security escort, in fact, that Jim had sent to the med bay the night before.

McCoy clapped him on the (unburnt) shoulder as he handed him off to the security guard- The doctor himself was headed towards the bridge. Jim stared at McCoy's retreating back until the turbolift doors closed behind him before he looked up at the security officer.

The guard, Hendorff, if Jim remembered right, was staring back at him, arms crossed but amused.

“You have a good tackle, for someone seventy-five pounds soaking wet,” he said by means of introduction.

Jim shrugged.

“No I mean it,” The officer objected, and started to lead them towards the lift, “It’s a hard thing, to leverage that amount of weight against a fully grown being.”

He paused, lost in thought for a moment. “’course,” Hendorff continued, “It’d make a heck of a strange fighting style if you kept it as you got back on track for regular adulthood. Waste of energy, hurling your whole self at people’s knees like that if you have other options.”

Jim shrugged again. “I wasn’t really thinking about developing bad habits when I started having to tackle people, to be honest,” he said.

“No, I suppose not.”

Hendorff hit the call button, and then stood back and simply appraised Jim, mouth pursed. Jim stared straight back, and didn’t even break eye contact to rub at the awkward aluminium cast around one of his fingers.

“You know they call that a bar-room fracture?” Hendorff asked, “You get ‘em when you don’t wrap your knuckles properly before a fistfight.”

Jim privately thought that his broken finger had as much to do with the fact that he was moderate-to-severely calcium deficient as it did with him having to throw impromptu punches. Instead of that, he said “Been in many bar fights, officer?”

Hendorff, instead of looking offended, laughed. “Met the captain in one, actually. Challenged me and two friends to a fistfight and held his own.”

Jim could feel his eyebrows lift into his hairline. “and he still took you on board?”

The turbolift arrived, and Hendorff stepped in, holding the door so Jim could scurry in as well.

“Picked me out, actually, while he was getting the roster prepared. Showed up at my house, called me Cupcake, told me to report to the gymnasium at 0800 the next morning so he could see what I was made of.” He shook his head. “Likes to believe in the best in people.”

Jim snorted; he couldn’t help himself.

“You don’t agree?” Hendorff asked.

“No,” Jim said, “Look, no offence to your captain, but people are assholes. They just pretend not to be until the chips are down, but everyone’s an asshole deep down.”

He scuffed one foot on the floor, and remembered killing his neighbour’s dog, who had greeted him even in the midst of a famine with a tail wag and a happy bark. He thinks of the pile of too-human bones he had found scraped clean with a knife in the back of the transport office, accompanied by the worthless piles of credit chits and passports. He thinks of the time Kodos visited the two-floor school house, called an assembly, and read them part of Henry VI, and proclaimed the value he placed on the education of the next generation in the same auditorium that he would later order their deaths.

“Everyone’s evil when the chips are down,” He said again, “No one’s good unless they gotta be. I bet even your captain wanted something from you.”

Hendorff stared at him a long moment, silent except for the whirr of the lift. “You can’t think that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a hard way to live, kid,”

“It’s worked for me so far.”

“Yeah,” Hendorff said quietly, “Guess I can’t argue with that.”

The turbo lift slowly came to a halt, and opened with a cheerful chirp. Hendorff led him down the short hall in silence, stopping only to lean down and enter the code to room on the number pad behind the door. He didn’t even bother trying to shield the code from Jim’s gaze. Whoever the captain was, he’d chosen a sloppy head of security.

The door opened, and Hendorff stood aside to let Jim through. Inside, Hikaru and Nyota were anxiously hunched over a padd.

“We’ll sort this out in no-time, kid,” Hendorff said, “Just you watch.”

Jim shrugged one more time. “I guess you’d know.” He watched Hendorff almost smile, and then wave to the other two in the room, who barely looked up from their padd. He hesitated in the entryway, and gave Jim one long last lingering look before closing and shutting the door behind him.

Jim turned back to the other two, and pulled Hendorff’s phaser out from behind his back. “The security on this ship is terrible,” He told them, “I pulled this off his belt while he was showing me the code to the room.”

Hikaru let out a small strangled noise, “You don’t even- You stole a phaser off the head of security and you didn’t even-“

“Jim,” Nyota interrupted, “We have something to tell you.”

“Have you figured out what information the padds weren’t showing us?” Jim asked, tucking the phaser into the extra slack in the pants around his waist, pulling the too-large shirt down over top.

Nyota frowned. “I guess we did, actually.”

Hikaru looked over, startled. “We did?”

“Yeah,” Nyota continued, “No-one on the ship would be interested in reading articles or watching movies fifteen years out of date, would they?”

“Say again?” Jim asked. “Because I could have sworn you just implied-“

“We’re in the future, yeah.” Hikaru interrupted. “As near as we can tell, when the missing crew members of this ship beamed down to the planet, they got swapped out with us. We got pulled forwards, they got sent back.”

Jim blinked, and then sat down on the couch. “They must have really wanted to kill whoever they sent back in my place,” He said eventually.

“I think they succeeded,” Hikaru said. “I’m from about a year ahead of you, as far as we can tell. There were only nine survivors from the Kill-List on Tarsus. Two family members of some of the guards who got hid when their spouses or siblings realised what was about to happen, and a bunch of kids from up in the mountains.”

“Kids from up in the-“ Kirk stuck his head between his knees and laughed from sheer, utter relief, so pure he felt punch-drunk with it. “Oh my god, they made it out. My kids made it out.”

“Jim,” Nyota said gently, “If we’re here in the place of those officers, then the way that they’ll try to get those officers back is by sending us back again. And if they do-“

She exchanged a glance with Hikaru, who looked uncomfortable about the whole situation.

“Jim, if you go back, you’ll _die_. You heard what the doctor said about you. And they’re going to try to send you back. They sent the Captain to Tarsus in your stead.”

“From what I’ve heard about the Captain,” Kirk said, “If they sent him to Tarsus, he’s dead already. Too trusting.” He sat up, and ignored the rush of weakness that still accompanied any sudden movement. “What happens if they try to send me back and he’s dead already? Do I just _die?”_

“We don’t know.” Hikaru said grimly, “But we’re not going to let them find out.”

Jim looked from one face to another. Both of them could have been carved from pimply, pre-pubescent stone. “What are you saying?”

“Jim Kirk,” Nyota said, “Help us steal a spaceship for you.”

Jim looked from one determined face to the next. "Ok."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jim talks about killing & eating a dog, cannibalism is heavily implied, but not done by Kirk. 
> 
> Warnings over, and yes, this is a short chapter, but all of a sudden I was dropping my sister off for university, and recruiting for my campus club and writing my thesis proposal, so. Sorry folks. Thanks to all of you for sticking with me. show of hands, who remembered that Cupcake's actual name is Hendorff and recognised him last chapter.
> 
> Also! Kirk has no awareness of the things he says as they apply to him, and I give a sad answer for Kirk's ridiculous TOS fighting style.

**Author's Note:**

> By the way, I should warn you upfront that I'm getting most of my characterisation from TOS rather than the reboot, because I've been binging TOS, and also because I like that Kirk better (sorry.)Kirk characterisation and voice in particular is really, really TOS. It's the Kirk I imagine Reboot Kirk growing into anyway, so imagine this is like, three or four years into the 5 year mission when he's had a chance to mellow and mature a little bit. I've kept the reboot sass though. I kind of like it. Also,the TOS timeline doesn't permit this story, so here it is in the reboot tag. 
> 
> PS I have no idea how often this fic is going to update, so stay tuned. A couple times a week is the goal.


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